Dial M For 16 And Murder
by zealousmuse
Summary: The annual MI6 whodunit Murder Mystery Christmas Party is in full swing when it takes a sudden turn for the deadly as guests start to drop dead. Can Alex find out who is behind this plot before his own guest finds the ultimate destination? Written for Holiday Fic Exchange 2019.


**A.N: **

**This is written for the Alex Rider FicExchange 2019. The prompt was- The annual MI6 whodunit Murder Mystery Christmas Party is in full swing when it takes a sudden turn for the deadly as guests start to drop dead. Can Alex find out who is behind this plot before his own guest finds the ultimate destination?**

**Additional Notes: **

**Ian Rider is alive. **

**Alex Rider still works for MI6. Ian and Alex have made up by now. **

**Yes, there is an Ian/Jack pairing. And yes, Alex is absolutely going to be meddling in this. **

**Timeline: **

**Alex is seventeen years old in this story, and if you're following the 1995 timeline, then the year would be 2012 about now. **

**Jack Starbright is around 31 years old here. **

**Ian Rider is around 38 years old here. I'm pretty sure that in the books it was heavily implied he was more towards the age of 40, but the books weren't very clear with anyone's age and the timeline is pretty messed up anyway so we'll just assume he's 38 here. **

"He's dead!"

Alex took a sip of his punch, unconcerned. The voice belonged unmistakably to that of Margaret A, not Margaret Atwood, who he liked to imagine would have a little more grace than the woman currently collapsed on the floor, tears flooding out of her eyes, but the Margaret A who worked in the forensics department and who watched too many soap operas and had a habit of fainting around handsome men.

Third time this week too. Goddamnit. Though Alex did lift more than the average seventeen-year-old boy did, he was not in the mood to pull another muscle just because Margaret decided to lose her _balance again. _How someone could be so clumsy was beyond him. He knew people who'd broken both their arms and legs that were less clumsy than Margaret on a day where she'd had her tea and taken her meds. Even Ian Rider had yet seen it fit to surpass Marge's clumsiness and the man 'fell' downstairs every other week.

"Bloody hell," Ian muttered, taking a sip of his champagne. His eyes were fixed on the woman as she draped herself dramatically across the man lying on the floor. Even from this distance, both of them could see that the blood was fake. Too red. Too bright. And it smelled like corn syrup and chocolate. "What is it this time? They aren't supposed to start until later."

Alex took a look around. In thirty minutes, at 8, the annual MI6 Holiday Party would kick-off. He wasn't sure how he'd ended up getting invited, since it was an 'invite-only' thing, and his uncle hadn't been planning on dragging him there. Mrs. Jones wasn't getting any softer either, and besides, she wasn't even coming to the party. At first, he'd been quick to dismiss it off as an error. A glitch in the system. He wasn't even old enough to drink and they had made it very clear that this was an 'adult only' party, and Alex was still very much a teen. He could have stayed in, relaxed, watched some TV, but eventually, he'd given in, if only for the chance to sneak in some free alcohol.

Pertaining to this year's Murder Mystery theme, there would be a 'masking' at 8, with everyone putting on masquerade type masks, and then an 'unmasking' at around 10. The guests were invited to solve some type of murder mystery (Alex had snorted; he couldn't imagine Ian or Crawley on the floor, searching for clues with a magnifying glass), and at the unmasking, the murderer would be revealed. To be honest, he was a little surprised by the elaborateness and how well planned the whole thing was. The cafeteria had been transformed into a "Night At The Ball" kind of thing, with silver streamers, balloons, and even waiters with mustaches and tuxedos. There were platters of appetizers being served and grand displays of cakes in the corners of the room. Someone had told him that there were actors among the guests, and he'd already spotted a few of them, minus the one currently on the floor.

He didn't think that MI6 was one of the types to do anything remotely fun for their employers, and certainly not...this, considering the nature of their profession.

At first, he'd been glad he'd come. The punch seemed to have some kind of rum in it, and this was already his second or third glass. If he played his cards right, he'd be properly tipsy by the unmasking and then, if all went well, he'd be passed out in bed at home by eleven. Tomorrow was a Saturday and Saturdays meant pancakes and sleeping in and doing nothing except paperwork over cups of hot chocolate. It could be a good weekend.

But then there were instances like this that made him regret everything, including his birth and being born to this certain family, as well as the fact that he actually worked here and so held an obligation to be polite and 'censored' around everyone. Well, censored while sober, at least. Drunk Alex had no such inhibitions.

"Go help her up, Ian," he took a purposefully loud sip of his drink, catching the attention of almost everyone in the room. A very limited number, considering there were only about 15 or so people standing around awkwardly, conveniently all near the food and punch tables. Not that he could blame them. His own plans would soon involve alcohol and shrimp cocktails.

Ian shot him an irritated look.

"Alex, we've discussed this."

"Have we?" Alex snickered. They had, actually, in a startling amount of detail. Ian had Alex sit down as he explained to his nephew that while he appreciated the concern, he didn't need people meddling in his love life. To which Alex had replied that this was precisely the reason that he was doing the meddling because for him to meddle in Ian's love life, Ian would have to have an _actual _love life, which, to his knowledge, he didn't possess at the moment. To which Ian had sent Alex to his room as if he were some sort of petulant toddler running off his mouth. He had also been grounded, but Jack had managed to get him out of that. Not only was Jack very convincing, but it was also very much obvious that Ian had some kind of soft spot for her. One he'd initially overlooked but now...

Alex's eyes scanned the room, finally spotting her by the punch table. He suppressed a grin when he realized Ian was looking at her too, and in a way that one might consider wholly inappropriate for an employer to be looking at his employee. Though Ian hadn't invited Jack to the annual MI6 Holiday Party, Alex had taken this liberty, because Ian could just be so clueless and besides, it was time for the man to get laid. Being a 38-year-old virgin was no longer something that was desirable and quite frankly, it looked bad to Alex and his friends as well, who figured that the rest of them were doomed if even _Ian _couldn't get a steady girlfriend.

_Oh, Ian, you smashed crayon. _Alex shook his head in mock sympathy.

"See something interesting?"

Ian tore his eyes away and focused back on his nephew. The two bore a remarkable resemblance to each other, and those who didn't know better would have said that they looked like father and son. But Ian detested anything remotely domestic as having a child. And, as Alex loved to cheerfully remind people, Ian was 38, meaning he'd have to have had Alex at just 21 years old.

"No." He drained his champagne. "When's the masking again?"

Though Alex recognized the cue to change the subject, he cheerfully ignored it. "Around 8. Jack's looking nice tonight, isn't she?"

"I suppose. I need to speak to Crawley. Seen him?"

"No, but why don't you try near the punch table?"

"Alex,"

He finally shut up. But who could blame him? The sexual tension, the chemistry, damn it, it was more excruciating than waiting for Romeo and Juliet to kiss in Brookland School's Production of the play. That had been the longest thirty minutes of his life, or so he had thought because he knew that the play had only about five minutes to go until it ended (screenwriters lost steam after the much-awaited smooch).

But this? The kiss would only be the start of things. And goddamnit, screw him if he was getting impatient!

He finished off his punch. Ian walked off, phone to his ear. Probably Crawley or Jones on the phone. Alex had once made the mistake of scrolling through his contacts and had been dismayed to find only five numbers. His, Jack's, the Banks, Jones's line, and Crawley's line. Confirming what he already knew-the man really did have no life outside his work.

His own phone buzzed in his pocket. He grimaced when he saw the angry barrage of messages coming in.

**Let me explain **

**Alex**

**Please**

**It isnt what it looks like**

**I'll explain**

**Alex**

**Call me back **

_Explain, my ass, _he thought, his mouth hardening as pressed the phone onto silent and put it back into his pocket. _What exactly was there to explain? You can't just explain away fucking someone on the kitchen table...ah, _he shut his eyes as the image came back into his head, full force. His girlfriend, on top of the Rider's kitchen counter, her shirt and bra off. Normally a sight he'd enjoyed, now a sight he hated because he couldn't get the image of _that..._that other person, that guy, the one whose waist her legs had been wrapped around, out of his head and he was so _sick_ of not being able to sleep, or eat right. Basically not being able to function like a normal human being. It was funny how he could survive a week in Iraq but coming home to find his girlfriend with another guy was enough for him to consider finally talking Jones up on the offer for a therapist.

God. He rubbed his forehead, tiredly. Why did these kinds of things have to always happen to him? Why did Jack have to have chosen that particular week to have gone back to the US? Why did Ian have to have gone to the bank to collect paperwork? There were a lot of questions and not a lot of answers that he liked. Fine. So he wasn't around a lot to be there for her and they'd only been going out, or fucking, whatever, same thing, for about a few months now, but still...in his kitchen? After a mission? After he'd been beaten up and tortured and shot at, the least he could have gone home to was a generally quiet existence. A normal one where there were relatively few surprises and the surprises that existed came in the form of failed Chemistry grades and canceled plans.

It was a shame he couldn't drink openly here; not legally, at least and certainly not without Ian giving him hell about it. But even just a beer would be enough to take the edge off, numb him for a few hours as he figured out exactly how to respond. He didn't know exactly how to go at it. For all his expertise with dating, he had never quite mastered the art of the perfect breakup text.

Oh, and it would be a text. Not a phone call. She didn't deserve it, that he knew for sure. He hadn't listened to Tom. Hell, he hadn't even listened to _himself. _It was a bad idea, he knew, to be seeing anyone at the current moment, or even into the near future, considering the nature of his work.

Still...Alex couldn't help but feel that they could have made it work. Maybe if he'd left less. Maybe if he'd come back less injured. She'd always huff when she realized that they couldn't do anything much except kiss, very gently, after missions. She said that they were trying to make up for lost time. At first, he'd thought that it referred to lost time between them but...

She'd found someone else to make up 'lost time' with, so...there was that.

He felt a hand on his arm.

"Alex?" Jack asked gently. "Everything okay?"

"Fine," he said. Realizing how rough his voice was, he looked away. Cleared his throat and tried again. "Uh, listen. Ian wanted to speak with you."

"Ian?" A strange look crossed her face. _If they aren't doing it already..._Alex smirked. The smirk disappeared off his face a moment later when across the room, Ian turned from where he was talking on his cellphone, giving him a steely glare. As if he sensed his meddling nephew was up to something. Ian had a remarkable Spidey sense when it came to Alex's constant interference and screwing up. The man had once called him in the middle of the night while on a mission in Madrid and reminded Alex that the alcohol in the kitchen was off-limits and so was giving it to other, similar teens with no concern for their own safety and well-being. This was when Alex had tried to host a small party, and yes, there had been alcohol but at least he had the decency to call everyone an Uber! It wasn't like he was _completely _irresponsible. "What for?"

"I don't know, some house keeping stuff? Listen, I have to get some more punch, so I'll, uh, leave you two up to it, yeah?"

Ian was bearing down on him. He needed to run. _Now. _

"Yeah, I don't remember what it was about but you guys have fun with it, yeah?" Alex gave her a light nudge with his elbow as Ian came close enough for his face to smooth out in a pleasant smile for Jack. His eyes, however, held the promise of revenge and bloody murder.

Alex gave an unmanly squeak as he recognized his cue to make haste and leave. "I'm going to go get some more punch," he repeated, turning away.

It was at that moment that a piercing scream cut through the room.

"She's dead!"

:~~~~~~~~:~~~~~~~~:~~~~~~~~:~~~~~~~~:~~~~~~~~:~~~~~~~~:~~~~~~~~:~~~~~~~~:

**A.N: So...what do you guys think? It's only the first chapter. I haven't had much time to be working on writing this month because I'm seeing family at the moment and, as luck would have it, I have midterms. Yuck. **

**Anyway, whoever's prompt this was, I hope it's up to what you expected so far. Feel free to DM me with suggestions; I've got some things planned out but I'm pretty accommodating, especially if I think it'll fit well with the story. Of course, I'll give you credit. **

**As always, feel free to leave a review and tell me what you think!**


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